


Lay Your Throne

by EmmaArthur



Series: Whumptober 2019 [21]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, BBC Musketeers - Freeform, M/M, Musketeers AU, Swordfighting, Swords, The Three Musketeers - Freeform, Whumptober, concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 17:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21165101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaArthur/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: Sequel to By the Sword. Alex loses the duel against Michael. Michael finds him trying to hide his concussion.





	Lay Your Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober day 24: **Secret Injury**.
> 
> Quick and messy sequel to my Musketeers AU.
> 
> Title is from Novo Amor's Silvery, because I'm so uninspired at this point that I use the song I'm currently listening to.
> 
> [concussion, vomiting, referenced injuries and abuse]

“You fought well, Captain,” the King says to a kneeling Alex. “But my son is an excellent swordsman, and you are obviously injured. Do you accept your defeat?”

“I do,” Alex says, raising his head. He's still reeling from the blow Michael dealt to his head, which knocked him out long enough for the rules of dueling to be satisfied, and Michael didn't try to start the duel again, instead looking at him on the floor with something akin to concern on his face. Alex doesn't know what to do with that.

“Very well. Then I declare Michael, count of Dimaras, the winner of this duel. Michael, will that satisfy your call for justice?”

“It will for now, my King,” Michael says, kneeling beside Alex. “The rest of my claims will be settled another day.”

“Well fought, my son,” the King says, rising to put a hand on Michael's shoulder. In that moment, Alex's defeat is well worth the look of pride on Michael's face. Until Alex meets his father's eyes, and notices his smirk. He is basking in Alex's humiliation. Alex grits his teeth.

“Captain, will you be able to return to your duties?” the King asks.

Liz takes a step forward at that, opening her mouth, but Alex waves her back. “I will, sire. I'm fine.”

He bows again and gets back to his feet, taking care not to show any weakness. He almost fails when the world turns on its head as soon as he's upright, but he blinks the dizziness away and reforms rank with his Musketeers. Liz and Maria immediately come to flank him.

“Alex! The King would have given you leave to go if you'd ask!” Liz exclaims. “You're in no shape to stand guard.”

“I can't,” Alex says. He lets Maria set his arm back into the sling, though, and a sigh of relief escapes him when it eases some of the pain away.

“But why?” Liz asks.

Alex doesn't dare look back to where his father is still sitting, but Maria nods toward him discreetly. “Because of him?” she asks.

Alex doesn't answer, too busy trying to swallow back the nausea.

“You don't have anything to prove to him, Alex,” Liz murmurs.

“I know,” Alex whispers back.

He does know. He's more respected and loved than his father by the whole kingdom, royal family included, even though Jesse Manes still outranks him. He has the King's ear, but everyone's confidence in the Prime Minister is waning, after years of unnecessary wars that ruined half the kingdom. And yet, it's not enough for Alex.

Is it for Michael? Alex searches for him in the crowd. He's standing by the Princess now, across the dais from Jesse Manes, their similar red uniforms standing out amid the Royals' greens. What is his endgame? Why did he challenge Alex today?

If he's still the man Alex remembers, a duel without bloodshed would never satisfy his wish for revenge. Michael has never believed in the justice of the law, or in the gentlemen's codes of honor. So either he's not out for revenge against Alex, or he has a larger plan.

Being close to him again today, touching him, was incredible and terrifying. Alex still can't believe Michael is really alive. It's been ten years since he watched him hang. It shouldn't be possible.

And yet here he is. It's his hand that stabbed Alex a week ago, his elbow that got him in the head today. His eyes on him, right now. Alex meets them, and the surge of emotions makes him stumble−unless that's the dizziness again.

Michael nods at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and Alex wants to cry.

Alex doesn't know how he manages to fight the mounting nausea for another two hours, as the Royal Family amuses themselves in the gardens. He's sure it must show on his face, because the King dismisses him the moment they're back inside the palace, and asks Liz and Maria to escort the Prince and Princess instead.

He finds himself, without really knowing how, leaning against a wall in a random corridor in the east wing, struggling against dizziness. He must have a concussion. He looks up as someone approaches, trying to stand up straighter.

“Hey,” Michael says, striding down the corridor in his red leathers. Alex would be dreaming about this, if he wasn't five second away from throwing up.

Michael is all swagger and smirk until he takes a closer look at Alex. “You alright?”

Alex opens his mouth to say he's fine, but what was bound to happen happens, and he retches instead, unable to stop himself. He barely misses Michael's boots.

“Alex!”

“'s nothing,” Alex mutters, but he can't hold himself up. The world is turning around him, and he falls to his knees. Michael catches him and gently lowers him to the floor. “Concussion.”

“Why did you hide it? You stood there for hours!”

“'m fine.”

“Clearly,” Michael rolls his eyes. “Don't move.”

Alex nearly moans as Michael's hands leave him, suddenly feeling cold. But Michael comes back instants later with two male servants.

“Take him to my chambers,” he orders. “Be gentle.”

His strength gone, Alex can only let the two men carry him through the empty corridors. He wonders what Michael's intentions are. Does he want to kill him, get his revenge fully? No, he had plenty of chances to kill him already. But then what? And why is he being so nice?

The servants put him down on a large bed, in a richly decorated room. Alex squirms, fully aware of how filthy he is after he met the dirt floor of the dueling ground more than once, but Michael doesn't let him stand up.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Don't worry about the sheets, they can be washed.”

Why is he so gentle? Alex wants to scream. He doesn't deserve this. Is Michael doing this so that his revenge will be even more cruel? Is he trying to lead Alex on into some twisted head game?

Michael brings a goblet of water to his lips. “Drink. You'll feel better.”

Alex obeys, for lack of a better idea. He's spent. He almost wants to give in, let Michael care for him, even if it makes what will inevitably come harder.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks.

“Because you're hurt,” Michael says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Let me go back to the garrison. I'll be fine.”

“You're in no shape to ride, Alex.”

Alex tastes the sound of his name on Michael's lips again, for the first time in ten years, and it's as bitter as it is sweet. The last time he heard it before today, Michael had a rope around his neck.

Michael brushes a strand of hair away from Alex's face, far too intimately, and Alex catches his hand. It's his left, the one he kept behind his back during the time of the duel, as per fencing tradition.

It's mangled. Half of it is covered in scars and the fingers have bends in places they shouldn't.

Alex closes his eyes and shudders. The moment his father hit Michael with a hammer, after catching them in the gardener's shed and seeing the brand on Michael's shoulder, has long been eclipsed by the memory of the noose around Michael's neck, but it's still there.

“Alex,” Michael calls.

“Are you trying to punish me?” Alex asks, meeting his eyes again. He doesn't melt into the golden brow irises this time, too shaken by the memories.

“What? No!”

“Then−

“I was angry at you for the longest time, Alex,” Michael sighs. “I resented you for not doing more to protect me, for not finding a way to free me. I'm still angry, sometimes. But I understand now, the hold he has on everything. If you had helped me, you would have condemned yourself.”

“I would have done it for you without a thought,” Alex says. “But he knew. He took away any leverage I could have used. I tried, I pleaded with him, with my brothers, I even tried to bribe the hangman, but he found out. I wasn't strong enough.”

Michael's eyes widen. “But you were, Alex. I always wondered, who it was that helped me escape. You saved me.”

“What?” Alex asks, confused.

“You rode away.”

“I couldn't watch. I just...I thought I owed you that, but I couldn't.”

“It's a good thing,” Michael says. “Alex, the hangman you bribed, he saved me. He pulled me down before I could choke and helped me escape.”

Alex chokes on his breath and bites on his finger, hard. He wants to weep, to curse, to scream, but he doesn't.

“_You_ saved me, Alex. I didn't know. I thought you'd abandoned me.”

Michael pulls him into a hug then, careful of his injuries. Alex buries his face in Michael's shoulder and gives him to the tears.

“Ten years,” he sniffles after a while. “I could never forgive myself.” He traces the scar around Michael's neck, just barely visible above his high collar.

“You enrolled,” Michael states. 

“Yeah. After you...after I thought you died, I had no reason left to fight my father's wishes. I started in the Army, and made my way to the Musketeers.”

“Did you choose them just to spite your father?”

Alex laughs between his tears. “A bit. I couldn't let him win everything.”

“What happened to you, Alex?” Michael asks, growing serious again.

“Um?”

“Your leg.”

“Ah, you noticed that,” Alex sighs. He knows his gait remains irregular, even with a wooden leg from the best crafter in the kingdom. It shows even more during a fight, where he has to compensate for his lack of mobility. But still, he wishes Michael could have been spared from seeing it, at least for a little longer.

He pushes Michael away enough to pull up his pant leg. Michael's breath hitches.

“Fuck, Alex. I didn't−”

“I'm okay,” Alex says. “It was rough for a while, but I'm okay now.”

Michael nods slowly, only half-believing him. 

“Where were you?” Alex asks. “For all these years?”

“I traveled a lot,” Michael says, which Alex knows is code for 'I didn't dare stay in the same place for two night in a row in case I got caught.' “Other cities, other countries. I went looking for where I come from, and it led me back here.”

“So you're the King's son, huh?” Alex asks.

“Apparently,” Michael shrugs. “My mom was a woman of the court, but she died in childbirth, so I was given away. But there are records. They weren't easy to find.”

“At least now my father can't touch you. And you have a title and lands, I'm guessing. You won't be poor ever again.”

Michael talked to Alex only once, about growing up in an orphanage, starving and without shoes. That's what led him to stealing food, to being convicted and branded.

That's the excuse his father used to call off the wedding and have Michael hanged, when he found out. He had full  powers, on his own lands, to call for an execution. Here in the city, he doesn't anymore.

“It doesn't erase what happened,” Michael says darkly.

Alex hangs his head. “Of course. I'm sorry.”

“No, I didn't mean it like that,” Michael reassures him immediately. “Alex, look at me.”

“I'm−”

“Alex!” Alex looks up. “I don't blame you, not anymore. _He_ did all this. And he's going to pay for it.”

“He's untouchable,” Alex says.

“No he's not,” Michael shakes his head, but he doesn't elaborate. “I'm sorry I stabbed you the other day,” he says instead.

“I probably deserved it,” Alex shrugs with his good shoulder.

“No, never. But I needed to establish myself with the Red Guards, and also to make sure that you would lose today.”

“I'm flattered that you think I need to be injured for you to beat me, but why did you need me to lose? Why challenge me at all?”

“Because I have a plan,” Michael says, giving himself a mysterious air.

“A plan to what?” Alex raises his eyebrows. “Overthrow the King?”

Michael smiles. “No. A plan to bring your father down, once and for all. I needed you to lose against me today so you can win against him, when the time comes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it. I have a couple of ideas for possible sequels/standalone parts of this AU, so tell me if you'd want to read more!


End file.
